


Fic: So I Sing a Song of Love: Julia (NC17)

by tracy7307



Category: The Eagle | Eagle of the Ninth (2011)
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-15
Updated: 2011-11-15
Packaged: 2017-10-31 21:35:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/348592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tracy7307/pseuds/tracy7307
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the book, Uncle Aquila mentions the woman he loved, who "lies buried at Glevum...She was the daughter of my old Camp Commandant...she was very pretty, with a lot of soft brown hair. Eighteen when she died. I was twenty-two."  This is their story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fic: So I Sing a Song of Love: Julia (NC17)

**Title** So I Sing a Song of Love: Julia  
 **Rating** NC17  
 **Pairings** Quintus (Uncle Aquila)/Julia (the girl he loved at Glevum), with a special guest appearance by Marcus/Esca  
 **Content Labels** Major character death  
 **Word Count** 3K  
 **Summary** Written for [this](http://the-eagle-kink.livejournal.com/2834.html?thread=2720018#t2720018) prompt at [](http://the-eagle-kink.livejournal.com/profile)[**the_eagle_kink**](http://the-eagle-kink.livejournal.com/). _In the book, Uncle Aquila mentions the woman he loved, who "lies buried at Glevum...She was the daughter of my old Camp Commandant...she was very pretty, with a lot of soft brown hair. Eighteen when she died. I was twenty-two."_ This is their story.  
 **Author’s Note** Written for the OP, [](http://riventhorn.livejournal.com/profile)[**riventhorn**](http://riventhorn.livejournal.com/) , as well as [](http://clari-clyde.livejournal.com/profile)[**clari_clyde**](http://clari-clyde.livejournal.com/), who questioned why Sutcliff didn't name many of her female characters. I gave her a name and a story for you, bb. Title borrowed from lyrics to song by The Beatles, _Julia_.

Julia.

The name he’d kept to himself for thirty years – a name that lived in his head and in his heart, but never on his lips.

Quintus Flavius Aquila was a man of good humour, joyful spirit, and pleasant disposition to everyone he met. There was an easy smile on his lips and a quip right behind it, but through his veins, with each _thrum thrum_ of his heart beat her name. _Julia, Julia_. He kept her name buried deep in an ocean of memories, a secret for him and him alone.

The first time he’d seen her, he was visiting the home of his Camp Commandant. She scurried through the door, shutting out the blustering wind that sent dried leaves scuttling around her feet. She lowered her mantle from her head, protection against the chilled autumn air. Soft brown hair tumbled down over her shoulders, endless waves of it.

“Mithras!” she exclaimed, breathless. Her cheeks blossomed bright pink against her pale skin. “This blasted British air chills me to the bone.” When she smiled at Quintus, it reached the corners of her dark brown eyes – exuberant and so beautiful that he found his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. “You must be one of my father’s, yes? Have you seen him yet?”

Quintus pulled his eyes away from her face but instead found his gaze focused on her hair. The setting sun spilled through the window and pieces of it glinted gold. Quintus’s fingers twitched with the want of touch. It was her giggle that finally pulled him from his thoughts and forced his speech. “No,” he managed. “I have not seen him yet. Your slave showed me in here to wait.”

“Ah. Of course he would leave you sitting in this drafty room that howls like a wolf with every gust of wind. You will end up ill before you leave and then where will we be? Come, do you sit with me in the atrium while we wait.”

He followed her down the corridor, watching her small sandaled feet as they walked.

He settled onto a couch in the atrium. “I’m Quintus,” he supplied as she poured wine and placed the goblet in his hands. “Quintus Flavius Aquila.”

“Oh! I neglected to tell you my name. How rude of me,” she smiled. “I’m Julia.”

~*~

Julius Gallus apologized profusely to his daughter and Quintus for his tardiness, placing the blame on a long-winded acquaintance who wanted to revisit every battle in which he’d participated. “Good of you to come, dear young man,” he said, grasping Quintus’s forearm in greeting. “I see you’ve met my Julia.”

“I have,” Quintus said. He could blame the high flush on his cheeks on the wine. It was strong, after all.

The dinner of roasted boar, leeks, bread, and nuts and cheese filled his belly and a large quantity of wine fueled his blood. Throughout the meal, talk abounded, and he was surprised that Julia contributed regularly. She offered her opinion freely, even going so far as to debate with her father for an extended period of time on topics as varied as the nature of Saturnalia (“a festivity that gives a small taste of freedom to slaves before yanking it cruelly away? Backwards, in my opinion”) to battle tactics. Quintus watched each time as her father raised a point and Julia argued against it, carefully outlining her side.

He’d never encountered a woman so free with herself, as comfortable and self-assured as any man in her manner and opinion, let alone a father who would not only permit it but welcome it.

Julia was like no other, and he was certain he could never get enough of her.

“It’s a corrupt system, father,” she said with a sweeping motion of her hand. “Come now, surely you see that I’m correct.”

Julius tutted at her but could not hide the grin from his lips. “Yes, yes, dove, right as always.” He patted her hand and turned his attention to his honeycake.

Julia looked over at Quintus and shrugged her slender shoulders. “Only Isadora’s cakes could end that debate,” she leaned over and whispered. Quintus leaned over to hear her, his face close to her neck. She smelled of sandalwood and rosemary - of Rome. He swallowed past the emotion that formed in his throat.

The light from the lamp played on her skin, flickering as if in invitation.

He wasn’t quite certain he could swallow down love.

~*~

Quintus didn’t think of himself as unattractive. He knew there was appeal in his tall stature and strong arms, and his face must have not been half-bad as he’d catch girls giggling and blushing when he smiled their way.

That Julia chose him on which to bestow her affections, with her quick wit, keen insight and beauty, was beyond his comprehension. For whatever reason, he delighted in her attention these last six months. Every moment he could spare he stole away to her, bringing her a handmade bouquet of wildflowers or a poem he’d composed to make the smile reach her dark brown eyes.

On this particular day, Quintus sprinted through the grass as the sun grew into a yellow-orange orb on the golden line of the horizon. Julia laughed from behind him, determined in her chase.

“You can’t outrun me, soldier,” she panted.

“By Jupiter, I think I can,” he replied with a glance over his shoulder. “You have all the speed and stamina of a snail. Come now, woman, keep up! You cannot let a lowly man outrun you, now can you?”

Those words only fueled her determination, he knew. Nothing riled Julia more than the insinuation that she had not the capacity of doing whatever a man could (Quintus did not disagree with this; he had seen how she handled his shield and sword and thought she would make an excellent legionary given the chance). Her tunic would have limited her movement – had she not had it balled up in her fists around her thighs.

Julia cared not for propriety. She cared not what was expected of her. She cared only about what she wanted, be it to try to bring about reform or to fall madly in love. She did nothing halfway; if Julia was going to do something, she was going to give herself over to it.

And she’d given herself over to Quintus.

He stopped suddenly and turned, and Julia nearly sent them crashing to the ground as she collided with him. He wrapped his arms around her to steady her, taking the opportunity to steal a kiss. Her mouth was a sweet as the berries she’d just eaten.

They ended up side-by-side in the grass. Quintus laid down his cloak to shield them from the cold morning dew. He slid his fingers up and down the soft skin of her forearm, delighting in the bumps of skin it brought forth. “Do you stop that, Quintus! It tickles.”

“That is precisely why I do it, my heart,” he said.

She shoved her little elbow into his ribs and he sat up quickly to avoid further assault. “Oof!” he laughed. “Alright, I give! Mercy! Keep your bony elbow to yourself.”

“Do you see that cloud there? What shape do you think it takes? I think it is a chicken wearing three bracelets around its left leg.”

“I think it’s a man holding three rings,” Quintus said as he lifted her hand, kissing each of her fingers. “For each of the rings I will place on your fingers.”

“I do not need rings, my love,” she said, reaching up to stroke the hair on the back of his head. “I just need you.” Firmly she pulled him down, and he dipped his head to taste again from her sweet lips.

Julia was as bold in her lovemaking as she was in every other aspect of her life, and she didn’t shy away from taking what she wanted. Even from her position underneath him she took command, her tongue licking into his mouth, tangling with his as his hands found their way to her waist. She hummed against his lips when his hand slid up to her breast, thumbing over her nipple. “Ah, yes, Quintus,” she said softly, and his cock filled, tenting in his braccae.

It was all he could want when she reached under his tunic and splayed her hand on his stomach, sliding down under his braccae. Her fingers rasped through his course hair. She twirled her fingers in the hair for a moment with a playful smirk on her lips, the back of her hand brushing over his cock teasingly. “Tell me what you want, Quintus.”

He panted hot against her chin, kissing there and thrusting forward, pressing his cock against her hip, desperate for the contact.

“Not good enough. I need you to say it.” Her fingertips raked through his pubic hair, a maddening sensation with it so close to his prick.

“Touch me,” he said as he kissed under her chin, down the delicate curve of her neck. “Stroke me. Please.”

“So polite,” she whispered as her hand wrapped around his length. “So good for me.”

He thrust into her fist as she stroked him, and he could feel that he was leaking all over the inside of his braccae as the fabric rubbed over his cockhead, but he could not bring himself to care.

“Do you want to feel me, love?” she asked. The words vibrated against his lips as he kissed her neck and he found that he wished he could swallow the words, lick them up and swallow them and let them forever be a part of his body.

“Yes,” he said, and she lifted her hips, pulling up on her long tunic. The fabric gathered at her waist as she exposed herself, opening her legs for him. He moved his hand from her breast to the inside of her knee. Her skin was soft and warm against his palm as it slid down her thigh and she spread for him wider, still tugging lazily at his cock when he touched the slick skin between her legs.

“Quintus,” she said throatily when he rubbed the hard nub of flesh above her opening. “Please, Quintus,” she pleaded as he dragged his fingertips against it over and over, delighting as she canted her hips, rocking herself against his hand. She grabbed his wrist, pressing his fingers to the spot as she rubbed against him. Her brow furrowed as she worked herself on his hand, her slick wetness spreading on his fingers and palm, and if he didn’t know what was happening below her waist he’d surely mistake the look for one of deep thought.

Suddenly she shuddered, her hips jerking as she held his hand tight to her body. As the shudders calmed her frown gave way to a little grin. “Look at that little smile,” Quintus said. “I’d like to have your portrait done with that little smile, and I would be the only one to know its true meaning.”

“That is completely licentious,” she smiled as she pulled at the leather tie on his braccae. “I do like the way you think, Quintus. Kneel up,” she tugged the fabric down to his knees and his cock jutted out proudly. “Now sit back.” He did as he was told, watching as she straddled him. She held her tunic up with one hand and guided his cock inside of her with the other.

He grabbed her hips as she sank down onto him, warm, slick, and tight. When she was fully seated he held her there lest this end too quickly.

“How would you be painted then, my heart?” she asked as she swiveled her hips in his grip. “Would they capture this expression here? With your eyes half-lidded and your pupils so wide?” She began lifting her hips, sliding up and down his length. “How handsome you are in your desire. Even the little freckles on your nose look pleased.”

“Julia,” was all he could manage. He kissed her and reached for the brooch on her shoulder, unclipping it so that one side of her tunic fell open and exposed her breast. He noticed the tiny, light brown birthmark under her areola and kissed it once before cupping her breast and placing his lips to her nipple.

“My darling,” she panted as he licked her nipple. “You feel so good inside of me, love. So good as you fuck me.” She looked like a goddess on him, an Aphrodite radiant in her pleasure, riding him with abandon. She quickened her pace and the hot slide of her made him pant and fist at the grass under his fingers. He felt his balls tightening and knew it wouldn’t be much longer.

With a silent curse he clutched her to his chest, hands firmly splayed on her back as he thrust up, buried himself and spent his release. As he caught his breath the rest of the world came sharply back into focus: the sun reflecting in the dew, the birds busy chirping their song, and the sound of hooves against a trail somewhere in the far distance.

“Quintus,” Julia said, placing a gentle kiss on his brow and sliding off of his cock. “You will be the undoing of me, sweet.”

“Then join me,” he replied as he pulled up his braccae. “As I am already undone.”

He helped her dress, fastening her tunic for her and kissing each of her toes before lacing her sandals. Together they walked through the spring morning, the sun blessing them with warmth as they laced their fingers together.

A British summer, he thought, would be the perfect time for a wedding.

~*~

For Julia, the summer never came.

In April she took ill. The transformation happened so quickly that Quintus could hardly believe she was the same person. She was vibrant with volumes of brown hair and her skin had started to darken where the sun was able to touch it. It wasn’t long, though before she turned ghostly pale with her sickness and the dark circles under her eyes stood out nearly black in contrast. The round curves of her body grew thin and wiry. Gradually, her brown hair began to fall out. Each fit of coughing sent her slight frame into shaking, coughs so hard that she would sometimes vomit.

When her breathing became laboured, Quintus never left her bedside. The doctor advised him, “Stay away lest you catch her sickness as well, and why waste perfectly good legionary for this wraith of a woman?”

That doctor found himself sprawled on his large backside courtesy of Quintus’s fist.

Day and night Quintus held vigil by her bedside, trying to get her to drink or swallow soft food, but nothing held in her stomach.

He held her hand in the day, slept next to her at night and when she began gasping for air he pulled her to rest against his chest. “We will meet again, my sweet. I shall meet you in the afterlife. We were not meant for this world, you and I.”

He kissed her lips and said, “We will meet again, Julia. This I promise to you.”

And then she drew her last breath.

~*~

Events happened in quick succession after that, although the entire sequence felt like a nightmare to Quintus. Visions of her laid out in a pale tunic and the funeral procession haunted his dreams at night.

Days fell into months and years, and Quintus played all of the roles expected of him. Terrified that talking about Julia would cause him to lose his memories of their love, he never spoke of her. They were his memories, and her name stayed sealed inside of him, dwelling deep within his heart. His easy laugh and friendly manner covered the hurt he felt inside.

Decades passed and he loved no other – no one was Julia, after all. His nephew Marcus was the only person to whom he felt comfortable enough to mention her, and even then he couldn’t let her name past his lips for fear that he’d lose her altogether.

When Marcus moved out with his freedman to become a farmer, Quintus decided to call upon them. Out for a walk along the farm, he happened upon them in the barn, kissing and frotting against each other. “Esca,” he heard Marcus say in the same manner that Julia used to whisper his name, full of pleasure and love.

Quintus backed away unseen and let them have their moment.

Later that night, as Marcus and Esca sat on separate couches, Quintus could tell from the tension that his presence was the only thing deterring them from whatever it was they wanted to do. He could feel that they wanted him to leave so that they might be free in their affection.

“Let me tell you both something that an old man has learned about love,” Quintus began. Esca gave Marcus a panicked glance, but Marcus nodded at him in assurance.

Quintus told them everything.

By the time he finished talking, Marcus had moved to Esca’s couch and reached for his hand.

“With that, boys, I’m afraid I must take my leave and rest these weary bones. Until next time, may your crops be plentiful.”

As he departed, he saw Marcus wrap his arm around Esca’s shoulders as they walked back inside.

“May they have what we did not, love,” he whispered into the night air. “I shall see you soon, the Gods willing. I miss you still, my Julia.”


End file.
